


Trinitrotoluol

by Vamillepudding



Category: Downton Abbey, Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crack, M/M, The Crossover We Have All Waited For
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:02:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21544954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vamillepudding/pseuds/Vamillepudding
Summary: It was late afternoon in the Downton Estate, and Thomas Barrow felt rather proud of himself for having finished his duties for the day: He had conducted not just one (1), but two (2) evil plots that would serve to humiliate Mr Bates and possibly land Thomas either an exciting new position with better wages, or a prison sentence. Finally, Thomas had spent the rest of the day mentally preparing for the arrival of today’s visitor, one Tommy Shelby.
Relationships: Thomas Barrow/Tommy Shelby, Tommy Shelby/Alfie Solomons
Comments: 4
Kudos: 35
Collections: Peaky Blinders Exchange Round Two: Season 5 Edition





	Trinitrotoluol

**Author's Note:**

  * For [weeo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/weeo/gifts).



> I saw your request, and I just couldn't resist ! Enjoy !

It was late afternoon in the Downton Estate, and Thomas Barrow felt rather proud of himself for having finished his duties for the day: He had conducted not just one (1), but two (2) evil plots that would serve to humiliate Mr Bates and possibly land Thomas either an exciting new position with better wages, or a prison sentence. He had furthermore devoted some time to the book O’Brien had given him for Christmas: _Villainous Laughs and How To Achieve Them_. Thomas had used Lady Edith’s mirror to practice; it wasn’t as though it would do the more unimportant of the two remaining Crawley daughters much good.

Finally, Thomas had spent the rest of the day mentally preparing for the arrival of today’s visitor, one Tommy Shelby, a maybe-criminal from Birmingham. Supposedly Mr Shelby planned to make some sort of big donation to a charity Her Ladyship had founded – if it wasn’t that, it was something else along those lines, because wasn’t it always? Thomas thought that if _he_ were the owner of this estate, he would certainly never allow his wife to fraternise with the common classes (in this specific fantasy, Thomas was neither gay nor common; his wife did look an awful lot like Jimmy with a wig though).

More importantly than charity, however, was this: The rumour that Tommy Shelby was handsome.

Living in Yorkshire, Thomas did not often encounter handsome men; it was why when he did, he tried to make the most of it.

“The brother of a friend of my mum’s second cousin’s neighbour’s wife said he’s smoking hot,” one of the maids (Thomas didn’t bother memorising the maids’ names anymore; they changed each episode anyway) had said just that morning.

“Is he?” Thomas had asked, immediately interested, before catching Carson’s disapproving look. He cleared his throat. “Not that I care if he is. Obviously.”

That’d been several hours ago, and now Thomas was standing in the drawing room, where this Shelby was talking to His Lordship about something neither party looked particularly interested in. More often than not, Shelby seemed to miss his cue in the conversation; Lord Grantham’s jovial questions were answered instead with silences and stares.

One of those stares suddenly hit Thomas, who promptly dropped his tray.

All eyes were on him. Thomas didn’t miss one beat; he’d already stepped away from the mess and was now scowling at the second footman.

“How dare you?” he hissed loudly. “I’ll see you’re fired for this.”

“But-“

“Now clean up this mess,” Thomas commanded with authority, mentally congratulating himself on a job well done when the room’s general attention shifted away. Only Shelby was still staring. There was something unsettling about those eyes, Thomas decided, like Shelby couldn’t decide whether to kiss him or kill him and wear his skin.

He’d never been more attracted to anyone in his entire life.

That night, Thomas knew what to do. Mostly he knew what to do because a maid had handed him a letter with instructions, but you didn’t get to be first footman without a fair bit of self-adulation, so Thomas felt confident he’d also arrived here, at Shelby’s door, through his own wits.

Taking a deep breath, he knocked. A cool voice said, “Come in.” He did, about 80 per cent certain that this was the voice of what would prove to be a gentle yet demanding lover, and not a cold-blooded killer who’d sell his organs on the black market. (Thomas had already been there, done that, when the Crawleys had gone broke yet again and some lord could be convinced of a large cash injection if he, in turn, got a new kidney.)

The room, when he finally walked in, was lit with red candles. This was notable because there had not been any red candles in here before, as far as Thomas was aware of. Had Shelby brought them? What did he plan to _do_ with them? Thomas wasn’t sure he was desperate enough to use candles for anything but lighting.

Who was he kidding. He was definitely desperate enough.

“M’lord,” he said, because it seemed the thing to do. Shelby finally turned around from where he’d been staring out of the window, one eyebrow raised.

“I’m not a lord.”

Thomas didn’t reply, since there wasn’t much to say to that, and he made a point never to be rude to anyone richer than him, just in case something might work out.

For a moment there was silence, but just when Thomas was starting to wonder if perhaps they hadn’t clicked as well as he’d thought, Shelby, still with that unnerving stare, said, “How do you feel about photographs?”

It was the longest sentence Thomas had heard from him so far, and he internally cringed at the accent. Jesus. Desperation was one thing, but _Brummies_ …maybe Shelby would agree to just stay quiet, once they got down to it.

Then the question registered. Thomas frowned. “They’re expensive and incredibly inconvenient?”

If anything, Shelby’s expression got _more_ intense. “Alright, how do you feel about Polaroids?”

“They won’t be invented for another twenty years?” Thomas said uncertainly. He added another “M’lord,” just to be on the safe side.

Shelby smiled, and instantly, Thomas wished he hadn’t. He wished he’d stayed in his room. He wished he’d used his free evening to kidnap and possibly kill another dog instead. Smiles like that weren’t right, he thought. Nobody should be able to move their face like this.

“That won’t be a problem for this story,” Shelby said, taking an object from his travel bag that Thomas didn’t recognise, though he was at once struck by the odd sensation that he _did_ recognise it, despite his brain telling him he couldn’t possibly.

It was, a voice whispered in his mind, a polaroid camera.

“Take off your clothes and get on the bed,” Shelby commanded. Those words should have sent a thrill through Thomas, who mostly fantasised about hearing them from Jimmy, occasionally Alfred, and, in one particularly confusing dream, Mr Bates – but right now, they didn’t move him one bit.

It almost seemed to be an external force that made him say, “I don’t think I want to do that.” Perhaps it was his spine, newly grown and already making a mess of things.

“Brenton, right?” Shelby asked, exasperated.

“Barrow.”

“Look, Brenton. My boyfriend broke up with me because I’m quote-unquote-‘unstable’, and now I need to make him jealous. Eh?”

“By showing him a picture of me. Naked.,” Thomas clarified, since it seemed the thing to do. Shelby nodded.

Thomas took a moment to consider the situation while Shelby started going into a monologue about his theory on prostitution. These were the facts:

A complete stranger wanted to take a compromising photograph of him to show it to another stranger, with the sole intention of making that stranger jealous.

This was also the fact:

Thomas hadn’t had a shag in way too long.

He said, “If I do this, can we still get it on?”

Shelby shrugged. “If you want.”

“Won’t your boyfriend-“ Thomas broke off when Shelby stared at him, eyes blank. Jesus. “Alright then.” 

A couple of weeks after that, Thomas had just completed his weekly correspondence course on _Scheming_ (only four more months, his teacher promised, and then he’d be ready for graduation!) when a letter arrived in the mail, which is to say, it was delivered to Carson, who in turn gave it to Thomas with a judgemental look.

Thomas waited until he was in his room to open it, which was perhaps for the best: There was a single photo inside. It showed Shelby, unsmiling, standing next to a scary bearded man, who was laughing in that way people do when they secretly laugh at you. They were both looking at each other like they couldn’t quite look away. Neither could Thomas.

The caption said, “It worked.”

Thomas went to throw the picture away, then reconsidered, and put it in his drawer instead, next to a lock of hair he’d cut off Jimmy’s head while the boy had been asleep and various incriminating possessions he’d collected from most household members over the years, for future blackmailing purposes.

The photo fit right in.


End file.
